Shattering the Rose Colored Glasses
by UNCLE after dark
Summary: What really happened when Napoleon and Illya's secret life was discovered? Adults only Please. N/I very slashy Death fic.


Napoleon looked at his parents. He smiled and took a deep breath.

"Mom, dad, I have finally found the love of my life," he said, "The one person in this world that I want to spend the rest of my life with."

His mother began to cry, his father grabbed the man's hand and gave it a good firm shake.

"Congratulations my boy," his father said, "When do we get to meet your intended?"

"Right now," Napoleon said.

Napoleon walked over and took Illya by the hand, leading him over to his parents. Mr. and Mrs. Solo stood dumbfounded as they stared at the blond haired, blue eyed man their son was holding hands with. Mr. Solo shook his head.

"No, this is a joke right," he said, "Just to get a rise out of us, right Napoleon?"

"No dad. Illya and I love each other," Napoleon said, "We've been together for almost three years now."

His mother began to cry harder. Mr. Solo put his arms around his wife to comfort her.

"Mother, listen to me," Napoleon said, "All my life, you and dad both told me I should always do whatever makes me happy. Live my life to the fullest...And that is exactly what I'm doing. And Illya is the one who makes it all possible for me. What difference does it make as long as two people love and respect one another?"

His father looked at him. He saw the intense love and sincerity in Napoleon's eyes. It was a look he had never seen when Napoleon brought his lady friends out to their home for a visit. He saw the way Napoleon clutched tight to Illya's hand. He saw the blond unconsciously rub Napoleon's arm to keep him calm.

"Napoleon," Illya said, "Your parents are obviously uncomfortable with this right now. You stay here and I'll go to a hotel..."

"No, Illya...No. That won't be necessary," Mr. Solo said, "Napoleon's right. All we have ever wanted was for him to be happy. And he obviously is. You're welcome in our home."

Mr. Solo extended his hand to Kuryakin and Illya was glad to take it. The muscles in his neck began to relax. The Solo's walked back to the house and Illya and Napoleon took the luggage out of the car trunk. Napoleon stole a kiss. That sweet soft kiss. He felt his own body swell at the sensation and he heard Illya moan.

Napoleon slowly opened his eyes. He smiled as he felt the heat from Illya's body so close to his own. He realized they had fallen asleep, Solo still deep inside his partners lean body. Illya moaned once more and pressed back against the American. Kuryakin took Solo's hand that had been draped over his waist and placed it tenderly around his own cock. Solo felt the Russian go hard.

Illya reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the tube of lubricant. He squeezed some out in his own hand, meshing it between Napoleon's fingers and his own dick.

"Don't move," Kuryakin said, "You're too dry. Use this."

Napoleon took his lubed hand and reached down between them. He began to softly rub the slick lubricant around the tight ring of Kuryakin's anus and over his own hard member. Illya moaned in ecstasy and his muscles contracted around Napoleon's fully erect penis. Solo began to gently thrust inside his partner

Napoleon's tongue played with the back of Illya's neck as he began to move faster. They both trembled crying out one another's names as they climaxed almost simultaneously.

Illya gave a sigh of disappointment as he felt Napoleon slide out of his body. Solo rolled his blond counterpart over on his back and looked at him. His fingers brushed the sweaty mass of blond hair back from his face. Illya pulled him into a deep and impassioned kiss. Tongues explored every space they could, teeth played teasingly with lips. Illya's sticky hands pressed to Solo's chest, then his midsection finally taking his wet sticky penis in his hands. Solo moaned as he felt his member slide against Kuryakin's. He felt the Russian go hard once again.

Solo opened his body to the Russian and Illya made his attack. Solo's back arched off the bed at the sheer power the blond held. Each thrust was hard, fast and deliberate. With Napoleon in charge it was slow, pleasurable and love making at the highest level. With Illya it was wild, wonderful, changing positions often to get the maximum satisfaction. This often left Solo very sore and bruised but very, very satisfied.

Once more both men hit their peak together. For a few minutes they lay together trying to catch their breath. Then they were finally ready to meet the day. Neither spoke during breakfast or during their shower. Dressed, suite-cases in the car trunk they exchanged one more passionate kiss and Napoleon started the car.

The drive to the elder Solo's home was quiet. Empty roads, long stretches of woodlands, then wide open spaces without another vehicle in sight. Solo slowed the car down and kicked in the cruise control. Illya smiled and leaned over in the seat.

Napoleon gasped in delight as he felt Illya's mouth take his member. He felt the soft pouty lips slide up and down the shaft slowly, taking every sensation as a grand pleasure. Solo felt his body tremble as his hot cum filled his partner's mouth. Illya smiled and licked his lips as the sweet juices trickled down his throat. He sat back up and grabbed a towel from the glove box to clean his lover with. Illya wiped his mouth first and reached over to Solo.

"Nothing I like more than a good, firm stick-shift," the Russian said with a devilish grin.

Finally, they arrived at the Solo house just before dark.

"How do you think they are going to take it?" Illya asked.

Napoleon smiled, remembering his dream from the night before. He gave Kuryakin's hand a squeeze.

"They'll be fine with it, don't worry so much," he said.

Napoleon's parents stepped out on the porch as the two men got out of the car.

"Napoleon brought his shadow with him I see," his father whispered.

His wife gave him a gentle poke in the side as the two men started up the sidewalk. Napoleon embraced his parents. Illya shook their hands. Everyone went into the house.

Dinner was wonderful. The Solos sat and watched in amazement as the Russian eat everything but the tablecloth. He looked up and saw their stunned expressions and Napoleon's smile. He took his napkin and wiped his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Illya said, "Everything is so good, I guess I couldn't control myself. I eat so much "take-out" that real food…It was all delicious. Thank you"

Napoleon helped his mother clear the table and Illya walked outside to take in the fresh air. The elder Solo watched from a distance as Kuryakin walked across the yard to the car. The door opened behind him and Napoleon walked out.

"Hey dad, have you seen Illya?"

His father pointed across the yard. Napoleon gave his father a pat on the shoulder and walked off towards his partner. He watched as his son caught up to the blond and they stood for a moment talking, Napoleon's action wide and very animated. He saw the Russian shake his head and then his son gave the other man a slight push. The two young men continued to push each other back and forth. Finally, Illya managed to get Napoleon in a head lock, holding the American tight. The elder Solo could hear them laughing.

What he couldn't see was his son's hand gently brush across the front of the Russian's trousers. Illya sighed and gave his partners neck a squeeze. Napoleon reached up with one hand and grabbed the hard cock pressing against the blond's pants. Illya threw his hands up in the air to release his partner. Napoleon stood up and shifted his head and shoulders to tweak them. He looked at Kuryakin.

"What I wouldn't give to fuck you right here," Napoleon said low, "Throw your body against the back of the car and violate you ten ways to Sunday."

Illya felt his temperature rise. He cleared his throat and laughed.

"I could just imagine the look on your father's face if that happened," Illya said nodding back towards the house.

Illya turned and started back towards the house. Napoleon gave him a light shove between the shoulders.

"Hey!" Napoleon shouted, "Just because you're a guest doesn't mean you don't have to carry your own bag!"

He tossed Illya the small suitcase, and then took his from the car as well.

Mr. Solo watch them head back to the house.

"Napoleon," his mother said, "You have your old room. Illya has the guest room next to it at the end of the hall."

The two agents said their good-nights and headed up the stairs. Mr. Solo watched them go into their rooms and he heard the doors shut. He looked at his wife. Something wasn't quite right. He couldn't put his finger on it but something was.

Shortly before dawn, Mrs. Solo was awakened by a strange sound. It wasn't her husband's snoring, that she was use to. She climbed out of bed and pulled on her robe. She walked quietly thru the hallway listening for the sound. It was almost as if someone was in pain, no, not pain exactly. She stopped outside of the guest room and listened.

It's Illya, she thought. Poor thing must be sick from all the stuff he ate. Her motherly instincts kicked in and she opened the door.

Her husband shot out of bed at the terrified scream from his wife. He ran out of the room to see her standing by the railing hold her stomach and crying. He made it to the room just in time to see his son and the Russian totally naked trying to get off the bed. Napoleon looked frantically around for his pants. Mrs. Solo grabbed her husband and cried.

"What the hell is going on?" Mr. Solo yelled.

"Dad, mother, let me explain," Napoleon said finally clothed and out of the room.

"Oh God Napoleon," his father said, "How could you? What in this world ever possessed you to become…" His father's face changed drastically. "Out..Get the hell out of my house and I mean now."

Mr. Solo held his wife trying to calm her. Napoleon reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. She screamed and pulled away from him. She was on the verge of a collapse as Mr. Solo helped her back to their room and sat beside her on the bed.

"Oh god, Arthur," she said choking as the words caught in her throat, "I saw them…Together…Illya was on the bed…..and Napoleon….Oh god, why? Why did he do this?"

Napoleon stepped up in their bedroom door. The elder Solo stood up and headed towards his son. He gave Napoleon a sharp push out of the doorframe.

"I told you to get out of my house," he shouted at his son, "If that's the way you want to live your life, go right ahead..But from now on, you have no family to fall back on, no inheritance, I'll see to that as soon as my lawyer gets to his office."

He gave Napoleon another shove and the agent lost his footing, tumbling backwards down the stairs. Illya ran down the landing and pushed past the elder man. In a matter of seconds he was at Napoleon's side trying to see if he was injured.

"Napoleon," Illya said, "Napoleon can you hear me?"

Napoleon was sore but to all appearances, not hurt too badly. He had a cut on his forehead and his cheek and chin were bruised but that was about all Illya could see. He looked up to see Napoleon's dad coming down the stairs. The expression on the older man's face actually scared him. He had never seen a THRUSH with that expression before.

Arthur Solo gave the Russian a well placed kick in the side of the head. Normally Kuryakin could have easily blocked it, but he wasn't expecting it from Solo's father and his main concern at the time was Napoleon.

"This is entirely your fault," Mr. Solo said looking at the blond, "Napoleon was perfectly happy and normal before you came along."

Illya started to help Napoleon up out of the floor. His ear was bleeding from the kick and his head felt like it was on fire but he still tried to steady his lover.

"Tell me, Mr. Kuryakin," Arthur Solo shouted, "Just how long have you been letting men get up your ass?"

Napoleon clutched Illya's arm. The Russian gave it a pat and stared the elder Solo in the eyes.

"Since three American soldiers thought it would be fun to rape a seven year old boy and hold him captive for two weeks," Illya responded, "They made me do things most people only have nightmares about. What do you think something like that does to a child? I tried five different times to kill myself and every time someone saved me. Saved me? Hu, I wish they had left me alone."

Napoleon was on his feet holding tight to Illya. He leaned against him, his face pressed to the back of the blond head. Illya had never told anyone but Napoleon that story. Even Waverly didn't know. He felt his partner's pain.

"So now you're taking you revenge with Napoleon," Arthur said.

"No," Kuryakin shouted, "Napoleon is the only human being who has ever shown me the slightest hint of love..Yes I said love. He was the one who made the first move. I didn't trust anyone..He…" Illya's eyes began to tear as he held his lover steady. "He loves me….And I love him just as much if not more."

He gave Napoleon a gentle pat and the latter tightened his arms around his partner. Solo looked back at his father.

"All you ever told me growing up was that you and mother wanted me to be happy," Napoleon said, "I am happy..Happier then I have ever been before. Illya makes me happy…Why can't you accept that?"

"Let's go, Napoleon," Illya said, "He'll never understand."

The two men started towards the door.

"I understand all too clearly," Mr. Solo said, "Now you understand this. Napoleon if you leave with him, you leave everything forever. Your home here, your home in New York….And your job at U.N.C.L.E."

Both Illya and Napoleon looked at him.

"What are you saying?" Napoleon asked.

His father stepped closer to them. His wife now a few steps behind him.

"I think you know exactly what I'm saying," Arthur said, "I don't think Mr. Waverly will be thrilled when he finds out his top two Male agents are having sex with one another. Even U.N.C.L.E. is not that broadminded. Leave and I will be on the phone before you get to the car. And with no U.N.C.L.E. status, the Russian goes back home, to a none to friendly reception. He'll be killed before he even leaves the plane possibly. You know how they feel about homosexuals in Russia don't you Mr. Kuryakin?"

Napoleon's strength was slowly coming back and he managed to stand on his own. He looked at his father. He saw his mother standing near him, her eyes swollen from crying.

"You may not like how I chose to live my life," Napoleon said, "But it could be a lot worse. I could be just like you."

Illya held Napoleon steady and they started again to the door.

They made it back to New York and Illya's apartment. He knew that Solo should go to the infirmary as soon as possible. His breathing had become raspy and he was in pain with each breath despite his best effort to conceal it.

Sure enough, several of Solo's ribs had hairline fractures. The doctor wrapped them and told Napoleon he needed to rest. No overly strenuous movement. Just rest.

Kuryakin and Solo were on their way to their respective offices when they were called in to the conference room. They walked in, startled to see the Security Chief, two of his men, and three other men they didn't recognize as U.N.C.L.E. personnel standing in the office with Waverly. They approached the desk and were about to take their seats when Waverly raised his hand.

"Remain standing gentlemen, if you please," the Chief said.

Napoleon felt his stomach knot.

The two security officers walked up behind them and frisked them. They removed the agent's weapons and laid them on the table, next went the communicator pens and finally the small black leather credentials cases. They checked that all the identification cards were intact. Everything was laid out on the table. The Security Chief walked up behind Solo.

"I am sad to see such promising careers thrown away like this," Waverly said, trying to hold back the tears that had formed in his eyes, "But too much is at stake here. I want Mr. Solo de-briefed and out of the building within the hour." He turned to the other three men in the room. "You gentlemen are free to take Mr. Kuryakin."

Two of the men said something to one another in Russian. Napoleon saw a look of terror come across Illya's face and the blond made a break for the door. One of the security officers pinned him to the floor and he was promptly cuffed.

"No, please, Mr. Waverly, don't do this please," Illya yelled, "Please god I beg you…"

The two KGB officers picked Kuryakin up off the floor and they dragged him out the door. The third shook hands with Waverly and started to leave. He stopped and looked at the expression on Solo's face. The Russian spat on Solo and left.

"Mr. Waverly, how could you do this to us?" Solo cried, "We have always given everything for U.N.C.L.E."

The security officers and the Chief dragged him out.

"Well maybe you and Kuryakin shouldn't have given each other so much," one of the men said.

Several other agents, male and female lined the halls. They couldn't believe the rumors they had heard about the agents were true. But now they were seeing it with their own eyes. Many of the women shuttered as they thought about Napoleon having intercourse with the Russian. He had always seemed so receptive to them.

One hour later, Napoleon Solo was dumped onto the sidewalk in front of his apartment building. His driver's license the only thing he had to remember who he was. For a few minutes he just sat there trying to pull his mind back together. He got up and staggered into the building finally making his way to his apartment. He walked in and looked around.

The place looked familiar but he wasn't sure how. He went into the bedroom and sat on the bed. His mind fired off flashes of memories. He was engaged in mad passionate love, but he couldn't tell with who. He put his hands against the bandaged ribs and took a deep painful breath. Solo opened the nightstand to look for aspirins to stop the pain. He found a small photo album.

Lying back on the bed he opened the book. It was filled with instant print photos of him…and another man. He ran his fingers over the photo of the blond headed man as he looked lovingly up at Solo. He looked at the photos of them kissing, making love, and the other man holding Solo's thick cock in his mouth. Solo slammed the book shut. Had he done this? Was that really him in the pictures? He saw the camera in the corner still on its tri-pod. Napoleon felt sick to his stomach.

He threw the book into the corner and laid back, tears streaming down his cheeks. What was going on? Why couldn't he remember? Not only had his memories of U.N.C.L.E. be erased but his memories of Illya were gone as well. Napoleon looked thru the open bedroom door as he heard his front door open. He saw someone stick their head in.

Arthur Solo came in and shut the door behind him. Napoleon looked at the photo on the nightstand of him, the man in his apartment and a woman. His parents? He looked at the man as he approached. Arthur came closer and stood next to the bed.

"Napoleon, son," he said.

"Dad.." Napoleon said. He grabbed the elder Solo's arms and held tight, "Dad what's going on?"

Arthur helped his son sit up.

"Let's get some of your things together and go home, Napoleon," he said, "You need a good rest, away from the city. Mother is waiting for you."

The elder Solo took the suite-case from the floor, dumped the clothes inside it out and started packing many of Napoleon's suites and other clothes. Napoleon went into the bathroom and gathered a few of his things, razor, aftershave, and toothbrush. Why were there two different bottles of aftershave? He opened the other and took a strong sniff. His mind once again showed him images he didn't understand. But these were much clearer than before. The person he was making love to…The blond haired man in the photos, this was his smell.

Napoleon closed the bottle and put it in his case. He walked back into the room and picked up the photo album, sliding it into his bag as well. His father helped him down to the waiting car. Napoleon looked back at the apartment building as he got into the car.

What he didn't see, was the pair of blue eyes staring at him from the alleyway.

Illya had managed somehow to get away from his guards. Beaten, bloodied and scared of being recaptured, he had made his way to Solo's hoping to find his partner. But the elder Solo beat him to it. At least I know where he's going, Illya thought. But how to get there was another thing altogether.

He looked down at his arms. His hands and wrist were badly cut and skinned from his struggle to get the cuffs off. He had purposely broken his thumb to get one hand free and the pain was excruciating. He cautiously began to make his way out of the city.

It had been nearly four days since he left New York. Napoleon picked at his food and sighed. He excused himself and went to his room. He double checked that the door was locked and sat down on the bed. He took out the photo album and slipped one of the photos out. He looked at the face and felt a warm sensation in his chest as the blue eyes stared back at him.

He lay back on the bed looking at the photo. Napoleon reached over and opened the bottle of after-shave letting the scent permeate his senses. He unconsciously reached down and opened his trousers, taking his thick hard penis in his hand. Staring at the photo he began to slowly pump his hard shaft. Breathing in the scent his hand moved faster, his breath began to catch in his throat. Napoleon closed his eyes and tried to picture the man in the photo. He could feel him; smell him, faster, faster. He felt his body swell and his hand was suddenly covered with hot sticky cum. Napoleon trembled.

"Oh god," he moaned, "Illya…"

Napoleon sat up. Illya. He remembered. Illya was the one in the photos. The one whose scent could throw him into wild abandoned. Illya Kuryakin. The one who loved him without limits. He looked down at his body. Napoleon lifted his hand and looked at the sticky, creamy fluid it was covered in. His mind flashed to the last time they made love back in New York.

Napoleon sat up slowly, his ribs in agony. He carefully pulled his pants back on, slipped the photo in his shirt pocket and he went downstairs.

Napoleon walked out the front door and down the steps. The warm summer grass felt soft under his feet as he walked out across the yard. He stopped at the fence and leaned against the gate. He glanced up the dirt road.

A lone figure was walking towards the house. He watched as it swayed and staggered, toppling into the dirt and rising again. Napoleon couldn't see very well from this distance. He continued to watch. Then he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He threw open the gate and started down the road.

Arthur Solo came out on the porch. He saw the figure coming up the road, and his son running to meet it.

A large black car came out of nowhere. Illya tried to put on more speed but his injuries only allowed him a fast limp. The car sped up and cut in front of him. Napoleon saw everything go into slow motion. First the sounds of the gunfire, Illya's body flailing as he was hit over and over. He saw the blond fall to the ground as the black car pulled back and the KGB men climbed out.

Napoleon made his way towards the lifeless form lying in the road. Pools of blood mixed with the loose dry dirt. He knelt down and lifted the body in his arms holding him tight to his chest. Solo's fingers touched the bloody bullet holes in Kuryakin's chest. To his surprise, the Russian made a single gasp.

"Don't….don't forget…me," he said, his blue eyes beginning to glaze over.

Napoleon cradled his lover in his arms, his blood stained fingers pushed the blond hair back.

"Never, Illya," Napoleon said, his voice trembling, "I love you."

He lifted the face to his and kissed the Russian one last time. Napoleon's heart-wrenching cry rang thru the country-side as he watched Illya take his last breath.


End file.
